Scarletfire
by Am
Summary: All four chapters are up. Harry sits this adventure out while Ron and Hermione desperately search for the one thing that will save his life.
1. Scarletfire

Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger walked down the hall after dinner together, following the crowd of Hogwarts students. All three were quiet; it had been a long day, and Harry, at least, was looking forward to his bed.

"Got any homework?" Ron asked, trying to make conversation. Harry and Hermione both shook their heads. "Want to play some chess?" His heart wasn't really in the suggestion, and he looked almost relieved when they both declined. The trio lapsed into silence; Hermione brought a book out of her bag, Ron yawned, and Harry idly watched the paintings move as they walked by.

He didn't see Draco Malfoy leaning against a wall, watching him with cold gray eyes, a cruel smile curving across his face. Draco ran a hand through his hair, ending with a tug to the ponytail holding back his longish white-blond hair, and then turned on his bootheel down the passage that led to the kitchens, his black cloak flaring out behind him.

§§§

__

Harry, standing still, as a silver dragon breathed red fire at him, while Hermione's voice shouted, "Fight it, Harry!" Flicker. 

Hermione, wearing an elaborate medieval outfit and a very large red stone on a gold chain around her neck. The stone had some gold working on it, but he couldn't see it clearly. Flicker. 

Himself, Ron, his head breaking the surface of a lake, a grin on his face, holding the same red stone by its gold chain. He could see the working now: a triangle upside-down inside another triangle, the first one's corners touching the other's edges. Flicker. 

Harry, standing still, as a silver dragon breathed red fire at him, while Hermione's voice shouted, "Fight it, Harry!" Flicker. 

Hermione, wearing an elaborate medieval outfit and a very large red stone on a gold chain around her neck. The stone had some gold working on it, but he couldn't see it clearly. Flicker. 

Himself, Ron, his head breaking the surface of a lake, a grin on his face, holding the same red stone by its gold chain. He could see the working now: a triangle upside-down inside another triangle, the first one's corners touching the other's edges. Flicker. 

Harry, standing still, as a silver dragon breathed red fire at him…

The dream faded as Ron awoke. He was by now convinced that it was not an ordinary dream; it had the wrong feeling, for one, not as hazy as a regular dream. For another, he had been seeing the same things every night for a week. He knew it by heart now; he only wished he knew what it meant. Scrubbing a hand through his red hair, he got out of bed, dressed, and went down to breakfast.

He joined Harry and Hermione at the Gryffindor table. "Good morning," he greeted them.

" 'Morning," Hermione said, and Harry echoed a few moments later. Ron helped himself to some toast and began to slather butter on it.

"Cornelius Fudge is a grandfather," Hermione announced, reading from her _Daily Prophet_. " 'Lucinda May, born yesterday to his daughter Susan.' "

"Oh, boy," Harry said sarcastically. Harry didn't like Fudge much. The Minister's behavior after Cedric had died two years ago, and his actions and inaction since, had not impressed Harry—or Dumbledore, and Harry set great store by Dumbledore's opinions. Hermione rolled her eyes and kept reading. Harry turned to Ron. "Hagrid owled this morning. He wants us to visit him for supper tonight."

"Okay," said Ron.

Harry took out a quill and wrote their reply, drinking pumpkin juice. Ron had inhaled his toast, and so asked Hermione for the crossword page from the paper—it had become a hobby. He pulled out his quill and checked his watch; _Good_. He had a solid twenty minutes before they had to go to Transfiguration.

§§§

Divination was the last class of the day. Ron followed Harry up the rope ladder and into the dim, perfumed room where the air always seemed twice as heavy. He sat down in a soft, peach-colored armchair. Ron could always say that one good thing about Divination: the class was boring and teacher irritating, but the chairs were comfy. "Man, it's hot in here," Harry said, slumping in his seat.

"Today," said Professor Trelawny in her dreamy voice, "we shall continue with our advanced Crystal Viewing. One person from each table, please come up and receive your balls." Ron's eyebrow quirked at that, but he didn't make a crack over it. "Again, use Chapter 12 of _Unfogging the Future_. I will be available if you need help interpreting your viewings."

Ron looked at Harry, but he seemed tired, so Ron fetched their crystal ball. Ron had never seen anything in it, and neither had Harry, except a lot of white mist. Still, Ron made some effort to peer into it—and—and—_there was something there_. Ron gasped and leaned in closer. _Harry, standing still, as a silver dragon breathed red fire at him…What the—! How—? What is my dream doing in the crystal ball?!?_

Unfortunately, Ron's pondering was cut short by Harry sliding to the floor in a dead faint.

"Harry!" he exclaimed, jumping up to see what was the matter. Lavender and Parvati came nearly as quickly, asking what had happened. Harry's face was flushed and sweaty; he was conscious again, but his eyes had a foggy look to them.

Professor Trelawny pushed through to Harry's side. She put a hand to his forehead, gasped, "He's burning up," and immediately Apparated with Harry to the infirmary.

§§§

Ron and Hermione anxiously hurried up to the hospital wing, long strides taking the stairs two at a time. Now that Hermione thought about it, Harry had been rather droopy all day, but she thought that he was just tired. _There's nothing going around Hogwarts; what could he have? It must be bad if he fainted! Oh, Harry, please be okay._ They burst through the door at the same time, startling Madame Pomfrey, who was ladling out a silvery-purple liquid from a cauldron into a glass.

"Where's Harry?" Hermione gasped.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Ron at the same time.

The nurse looked seriously at them. "Sit down, please. We must talk."

Hermione went cold. _Oh no_. "When can we see him?" she asked quietly.

"Soon. First, I must tell you some things."

Ron and Hermione sat and exchanged scared looks. Madame Pomfrey sounded unusually grim. "When Sibyl brought him up_—_no, I'll just tell you. Harry has been poisoned."

Hermione's breath caught. _Poisoned. No._ "There's an antidote, right? You've given it to him, haven't you?" She sounded slightly hysterical to her ears.

Madame Pomfrey took a deep breath. "There is an antidote, but no, we haven't given it to him yet. The poison that was used_—_scarletfire_—_is very powerful, therefore the ingredients of the antidote must be very powerful. The three main ingredients are phoenix tears, mandrake root_—_" _Well, that's not so bad_, Hermione thought "—and Elixir of Life, a product of the Sorcerer's Stone."

Hermione forgot to breathe. She heard that last sentence, over and over, inside her mind, and remembered a passage she had shown Ron and Harry in their first year:

__

There have been many reports of the Sorcerer's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicholas Flamel.

And that Stone had been destroyed five years ago.

Ron jumped up as a pressing sensation in her chest reminded Hermione to take breath. Madame Pomfrey sensed their panic. "Now, now. I can promise that everything possible is being done to save Harry's life. Professor Dumbledore is reading over his old alchemy notes and will attempt to make another Stone as soon as possible. Professor Snape is searching for a substitute ingredient in case the Headmaster is unsuccessful. Meanwhile, I will be giving Harry this potion every hour to slow the effects of the poison. He will live at least another three weeks, and that is enough time to save him." She picked up the glass. "Would you like to see him now?" They nodded, and followed her into a cubicle.

Hermione recalled what she knew about scarletfire. It coursed through the veins and heated the blood; that was why Professor Trelawny had thought that he had a fever. Eventually the blood would boil and the victim would die. The potion the nurse was giving him probably had a cooling effect.

Harry was lying on top of the white sheets, stripped to the waist. His skin was pink and damp, and his hair stuck to his forehead. His eyes opened sleepily at their approach. Madame Pomfrey made him sit up and drink, and soon some of the color went out of his cheeks, and he looked less drowsy. "Hi, guys," he said with a wan smile.

"Hey, Harry," Ron said, sounding grave.

"Did she tell you?" Harry asked. Hermione's lower lip trembled. "I guess so."

"Harry—" Ron started.

"Look, it's all right." Harry interrupted. "Dumbledore's going to everything he can, and I know that if anyone can cure me, it's him." His eyes were filled with trust and admiration. "It's going to be fine."

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks, not sharing Harry's absolute faith in the Headmaster. Ron then said, "Oh, hey, I brought you something." He pulled Harry's photo album out of his bag. "I thought it might help, you know…"

"Thanks, Ron." Harry flipped though the book, his eyes shining.

"All right, that's enough, you two. Out," Madame Pomfrey commanded.

Hermione leaned down and kissed Harry's cheek. It was too warm; another reminder. "Fight it, Harry," she said fiercely, and left.

§§§

Ron and Hermione were back in the Gryffindor common room, next to a window away from the commotion. Hermione was pacing briskly, muttering to herself, angrily wiping tears off her face with her sleeve every so often. Ron could hear snatches of her murmuring; "what're we going to do" came through a lot. He was sitting in a chair, knees drawn up to his chin. Ron was not wondering what they were going to do. He was thinking of what Hermione had said, down there in the hospital wing.

__

"Fight it, Harry." Exactly what she was yelling in my dream. And there it was in the crystal ball—_is it the future? Was it the future? What about the rest?_ Ron thumped his knee with his fist. _What does this mean? I need help._

"Hermione?" he said. She stopped and looked at him. "I…think that I need to tell you something."

"What?" she asked skeptically. Ron knew she was wondering what could be so important that he need to tell her _now_, of all times. He suddenly felt unsure.

"I've been having…dreams," he said quickly. "For a week now, I've been having the same dream over and over. And then right before Harry fainted in Divination, I saw the same things in the crystal ball. And what you said to Harry down there—'Fight it, Harry'—that was what you said in the dream." Ron looked up, seeing how she had taken this information. Hermione looked puzzled.

"What? Let me straighten this out." She knuckled her forehead. "You've been having the same dream for a week." Ron nodded. "You saw the dream in the crystal ball today." He nodded again. "And I said the same thing in the dream that I just said to Harry? Ron, this is important." He sighed with relief. Hermione was taking this seriously. "Did anything else happen in the dream?"

"Yeah, tons. Let me see…First, there was a silver dragon breathing this bright red fire at Harry, and that was when you yelled, "Fight it, Harry!" Then it changed, and there was just you standing there, in this medieval outfit wearing a necklace with a ruby on it and some gold decoration on the ruby. Then it changed again, and there was me, coming out of a lake or something, holding the necklace. I could see the decoration now—here, let me draw it." He took a quill and quickly sketched the two triangles, and handed it to Hermione.

She gasped. "Ron, are you sure it was a ruby?"

"Well, it looked like a ruby…" he started, but Hermione had run off. She returned with a volume of _The Wizard's World Book Encyclopedia_. Flipping to a page, she set it down before Ron. "Did it look like that?"

"Yes, that's it exactly," Ron said, glancing at the picture.

"Then it wasn't a ruby, Ron. It's a Sorcerer's Stone."

Ron's mouth fell open. "_What!?_"

"That Sorcerer's Stone was lost six hundred years ago. It belonged to—well, don't you listen in History?"

"Yes!" said Ron defensively.

"Don't you remember the Damodreds?"

"Sort of. We studied them last year, right?"

Hermione snorted. "Try last month, Ron. Anyway, the Damodreds were an old and very wealthy wizard family. One member of that family, Lord Jeffrey Damodred, was a very ostentatious man." Hermione gestured. "Feasts, palaces…he liked everyone to know just how rich he was. And so he had that necklace made for his wife Clarissa." She laughed. "Can you imagine? Wearing a _Sorcerer's Stone_ as _jewelry_?!"

"You said it was lost," prompted Ron.

"Yes." She shrugged. "Lord Jeffrey had many enemies, and a few banded together and took him down. Destroyed his houses, killed his family and servants…" Hermione bit her lip. "But the necklace was never found."

"So let's go find it," he said determinedly.

Hermione gave him a sad look. "Ron," she said gently, "we don't know if that's what it meant—"

"What else could it mean?" Ron exploded. "I have a dream for a week before _this_ happens, then I see it in the crystal ball—you know I've never seen anything in it before. This must be something really important to be shown to _me_. It couldn't be a lie if it was so important. And a part of it has come true already. What else could it mean, Hermione? You and I are going to find the Sorcerer's Stone."

Hermione looked stunned. Then her eyes narrowed. "All right, if we _are_ going to find the Sorcerer's Stone, where to you suggest we look?"

Ron tilted his head. "Was there a lake close to Lord Jeffrey's manor?"

"Yeah. It's famous. A mile deep and a mile wide, perfectly circular, lined with white marble. No one knows how it was made."

"Then let's start there," Ron said.

"Ron, I'm sure that people have been through that lake a hundred times, if not looking for the Stone specifically. It's an interesting place. Why should we be able to find something that they couldn't?"

"They didn't _know_ it was there," Ron said, tapping his head.

"Then let's tell Dumbledore, or someone. Maybe they'll believe us. Why do _we_ have to go?"

"Because Harry would do it," Ron said with steel in his voice. "Harry would do it, for either of us. He would, and he could, too. That's the kind of friend Harry is. Are you going to do the same for him?"

Hermione looked at him a long moment. Then she nodded. "All right, all right. Let's do it."

§§§

Note: Thanks for the reviews, people: Sarah Backx (actually, it didn't; I was waiting anxiously for a _real_ review, sorry), Tessie, Sabrina Myst, muggle genius, Ven Mi Reflejo (my, your name is hard to type), Rosmerta (I imagine a lot of siblings of Muggle-born wizards feel that way), Lavender, starrydreamer, Sara Cassidy, Chocolate Frog, VolleyballKrazy (I imagine that subconsciously he never forgot, and McGonagall's appearance triggered those memories), Anne, 1960 DeSoto, Crystal Music, metal mouth (don't we all _wish_ it were a sign…I'll probably do Colin…and 2nd year), PJ Babington, roz, Mladybug3 (that would be tough), Melanie McDonald & Lottie Dot, Hermione L. Granger (R-O-N! Who do we love? RON! The toenail clippers part is my favorite too.), Rachel, and Sarah Weasley (even though all you said was "Huh?" What were you confused about?).

The Other Note: Hmm…what brownie point question should I ask this time? Oh, yes. What book inspired me to name this story after a poison? Six thousand and two points if you can tell me.


	2. On the Road

You really had to hand it to Hermione, thought Ron. Once you had convinced her of the necessity of something, she was all business. She had gone back to pacing and muttering again, but now looked purposeful instead of hopeless. Ron let her do the planning; she was much better at it than he. He smiled wryly. He had wanted to leave as soon as she had said "Let's do it," but Hermione had quickly pointed out that that would leave them with no food, no direction, and no means but their wands and their wits. So she planned.

"Got it," she announced, stopping suddenly and snapping her fingers. She sat on her heels in front of Ron and spoke quietly. "All right, here's what we'll do. We'll need food, clothes, a few books from the library, and some other small things." She bit her lip in thought. "I think you had better get the food, while I go to the library and see what I can find about the Damodreds." _Good idea_, Ron thought. The house-elves still hadn't forgiven Hermione for trying to free them two years ago. "Then we'll meet back here and pack our clothes and things, and then…we'll leave."

__

Just like that? Ron thought. But he voiced another concern. "Hold it, Hermione. Don't you think it'll be a bit conspicuous? Me carrying a big pile of food through the school? For that matter, how am I going to _carry_ a big pile of food through the school?"

"You're right. You'd better use the Invisibility Cloak, just to be safe. And as for carrying it, you can use my backpack." She dragged it off a table.

Ron looked at it skeptically. "Is that going to carry enough food for however long it'll take us?"

Hermione looked decidedly smug as she unzipped the top and stuck her wand in. She zipped it up, then opened it again. There was no wand. She zipped and unzipped it eight more times. Finally she was back to the first compartment and took out her wand.

"Ah," said Ron knowingly. "It's one of those. I didn't know you had one."

"I got it for my last birthday," Hermione said. "It should hold all we need for the trip. Now, let's get going."

§§§

Ron slipped upstairs with the backpack slung over his shoulder. Checking to see if the dorm was empty, he crossed the room and opened Harry's trunk. He felt funny taking the Invisibility Cloak; it was from Harry's father and was the most personal thing he owned. _Harry could soon be going the way of his father_. The thought came unbidden to Ron's mind. _Who poisoned him? Who?_ He kicked the trunk closed. No time to think about it now. Ron covered himself with the cloak, checking in the mirror to make sure, and then crept down the stairs to where Hermione was waiting, and left the common room with her.

He carefully made his way down to the kitchens. He pulled off the cloak and stuffed it into Hermione's backpack before tickling the pear and going in. One of the house-elves noticed him immediately and scurried over. He bowed low, and his long ears brushed the floor. "What can Ducky be doing for you, sir?"

"Er…" What _was_ he going to say? "A friend and I are…going on a camping trip." That sounded a bit ridiculous, but the elf didn't bat an eye. "For…three weeks. And we need some food—please," he added hastily. Ducky bowed again and hurried off.

"Mr. Wheezy, sir!" a squeak came, quickly followed by the small form of Dobby.

"Weasley," he muttered. It never did any good. "Hullo, Dobby."

"So happy Dobby is to see you!" he exclaimed. "Would you be wanting some tea, sir?"

"No, that's all right." No time to waste on tea.

"How is Harry Potter doing, sir?"

Ron sighed. "Not so good," he said reluctantly. "Dobby, someone's poisoned him. He's up in the hospital wing."

The house-elf's eyes went very wide. "Was it…He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, sir?"

"They don't know, Dobby." It could very well be. The thought made Ron pale.

"This makes Dobby wonder, sir…Dobby saw…" He grimaced suddenly. "No, no, no! Bad Dobby!" He walked off towards the other side of the room, hitting his head on the table as he did.

Ron was mildly interested in what Dobby was trying to say, but at that moment, Ducky and half a dozen other house-elves came back and made a small pile of food at his feet. Ron dug through and wasn't disappointed. Several packages each of sausages and hot dogs, four canisters of oatmeal, two sacks of oranges, and three loaves of bread. "Will you be needing anything else, sir?" said the house-elf, bouncing eagerly on his toes.

Ron looked around the kitchen, and his eyes fell upon the pots hanging in rows. He realized that they had nothing to cook or eat with. "Yeah, uh…a pot, some bowls and plates…spoons and forks, cups, and—" he looked at the oatmeal "—I guess a stirring spoon. I'll bring them back, I promise." The elf brought these things in short order, and Ron carefully packed them, and the food, into the bag. They took up four compartments. He thanked Ducky—Hermione would kill him if she learned that he hadn't been polite—and walked out the door.

§§§

Ron found Hermione waiting for him back up in Gryffindor Tower, eager to get on with their plan. She half-filled the fifth compartment with a few heavy books. Her voice took on a bossy tone. "Right, now we don't want anyone to get suspicious, so you go up to your room first and get what you need. And _Muggle_ clothes, mind; we don't know who we'll run into. I'll come up in a few minutes and get what I need, then I'll come into your room. _Make sure it's empty_. We'll put everything in my bag, cover you with the cloak, and then we'll go."

Up in the dormitory, Ron flipped open his trunk and started piling clothes on the bed. He dug around, pulling out a few things that might be useful. Then he heard feet outside the door. Panickedly he slammed the truck closed and pulled the curtains around his bed, hiding the pile. He leaped up and was standing awkwardly when Dean Thomas entered.

"Hello, Ron," he said carefully. None of the Gryffindors wanted to risk upsetting Ron or Hermione.

Ron's heart raced and he heard Hermione's voice inside his head. _Make sure it's empty_…. _Got to get Dean out_. An idea came to him. Ron really didn't want to act on it, but there was no choice. He put on a sad face. "Er…Dean?" he said plaintively.

"Yes?" he answered, turning around.

Ron really hated to do this to him, but…_ Make sure it's empty_. Their plan to help Harry depended on it. "I, uh, left my Charms notebook downstairs. Could you get it for me?"

"Sure thing, Ron," Dean said sympathetically. He left.

He really, really hated to do this to him. The way Dean was, he would look for a half an hour or until he found that notebook. Which he wouldn't. It was in Ron's desk. _He'll understand later_, Ron consoled himself. Still, he was feeling pretty low as he went back to searching his trunk.

Finding nothing more of use, he looked around until his eyes stopped on Harry's part of the room. _Why not_, he thought recklessly. _We_ are _trying to save his life, after all_. For the second time that evening, he started digging around in Harry's trunk.

§§§

Hermione entered the boys' dormitory, seeing Ron standing nervously by his bed. He relaxed as soon as he saw that it was she. Hermione set her backpack on the floor and Ron began unceremoniously stuffing clothes in. Hermione opened her mouth to suggest _folding_ them first, Ron, but she didn't feel like starting an argument, not now. After she made him pack the blanket from his bed, he shouldered the bag and she draped the cloak over him. He followed her carefully down the stairs, and out the portrait hole. Checking to see if there was anyone in the hall, she climbed under the cloak herself. It was close quarters; Ron had grown very tall. They sneaked through the corridors and out the front door.

"Can we take this thing off now?" Ron said in a loud whisper.

"No," she said in a much quieter voice. "Not until we're clear of the grounds."

They walked, past the cabbage patches, past the greenhouse, past the hencoop, until a ringing in her ears told Hermione that they were through the wards around the school. She pulled the cloak off and shook hair out of her face. Ron put the cloak in her bag. "All right, we got out of Hogwarts. What now, Hermione?"

"Now we walk. Quickly, as they'll be looking for us. Since Hogwarts isn't on any map, we'll keep going until I can tell where we are. I've got a map that shows where the Damodred castle was; we can find our way with that. Now come on."

Ron didn't move. "Hermione, if Hogwarts can't be plotted on a map, how are we going to find our way back? Leave a trail of bread crumbs?" he added sarcastically. "We have plenty."

Hermione stopped. That was a good question, and a very rare moment of foresight from Ron. She felt around in the corners of her mind for ideas, but there was nothing concrete. "I don't know, Ron," she said, feeling a little scared. How horrible it would be to have the Stone and not know how to get back to Harry. "Maybe a Location Charm or something…"

Ron took out his wand. "Mum used to use this on us when we were little." He waved it in a circle and pointed it at a nearby tree, which glowed purple for an instant. "Watch." Ron made a quarter turn and set his wand in his palm as if he were about to do the Four-Point Spell. "_Esubi_," he whispered, and the wand spun around and pointed straight at the tree. He gave Hermione an insufferably superior look.

"You say your mother cast it on you when you were younger?" she asked, trying to break his gaze.

"Well, Fred and George, mostly," he muttered, the tips of his ears turning red.

They walked briskly for a ways, in silence. The grass rippled in the late September wind, which had just a hint of a chill to it. The sun had just set, and the sky was darkening. Now Hermione could pick out several stars in the east.

"Hey," said Ron in a whisper, sounding amused. "Is there a reason we're not talking?"

"I suppose not. You don't have to whisper, Ron."

"So, how long do you reckon it'll take them to figure out we've gone?"

Hermione tilted her head. "I suppose that depends. They'll notice we're gone at bedtime, at the latest. It probably won't take them long to figure out that this has to do with Harry, though. They'll find our clothes gone and start looking outside of Hogwarts for us. We should probably avoid wizarding towns, if we can," she added as an afterthought. Ron said nothing but started walking faster.

They went on, over hills and around trees, until the growing darkness and the silence of her tall companion made Hermione uneasy. "Ron, what's your middle name?" It was a small shock to realize that she didn't know.

She thought she saw his jaw tighten. "Aldous," he said shortly. Hermione coughed to stifle a laugh. "It's not funny!" he said, kicking a rock.

"Of course not, Ron," she said between giggles. "You do realize that that makes your initials RAW."

"Fine. What's yours?"

"Irene. Perfectly normal name."

Ron thought for a moment. "HIG. Nothing you can do with that. Pity it wasn't an A or O name."

Hermione skirted a bush. "Mum and Dad wouldn't have done that to me."

She thought that that had ended the conversation, and was looking at the stars when Ron spoke up again. "You know, if you married Harry," he mused, "you could be 'HIP.' "

She looked at him strangely. "Marry Harry? That's silly. Why would I marry Harry?"

Curiously, Ron grew defensive. "Well, you do kiss him all the time!"

__

That's definitely an exaggeration, she thought wonderingly. "Honestly, Ron, they're _friendly_ kisses!"

"Mmm-hmm," Ron said sarcastically.

"I don't know why it matters to you so much, Ronald _Aldous_ Weasley! I never thought I'd have to hear this kind of talk from you. Honestly!" she said again. Come to think of it, she didn't know why it mattered so much to her, either.

They didn't talk again until almost midnight, when Hermione said, "All right, I think we've come far enough for tonight. Start looking for a place to camp."

Ron found one shortly. Hermione cleared it of twigs while Ron rested, rubbing his shoulders. "Are we going to have a fire?" he asked.

"I suppose," she said, bending over to snag a branch. "Do you want to cast it, or shall I?"

Ron opened his mouth in mock surprise. "This, from Hermione 'There's no wood' Granger?" Hermione glared at him and whipping out her wand, shot out a stream of indigo flame, which came to rest and danced in a perfect circle an inch above the ground. _I'm not a Muggle anymore_, she thought, her eyes narrowing. _I've come a long way_. She missed Ron's thoughtful gaze.

§§§

Ron awakened to the sudden pressure of a foot in his back. He opened his eyes and looked up at Hermione, who had her arms crossed and a disapproving expression on her face. "Oh, keep doing that, please," he murmured. "I don't think this ground agrees with me."

She suddenly shifted all her weight to that foot. He rolled over quickly, groaning. "We have to get moving," she said. "We still have no idea where to go. Eat." She set a bowl of oatmeal and a plate with a few sausages on it down next to him. Rolling his neck, he began on his food.

About ten minutes later (Hermione nagging him every one), they were on the road again, so to speak. The weather was bright and warm, and their conversation mirrored it.

"…but I did get back at him, I did. I put Grow-Your-Own-Warts Solution in his bed—"

"Road," Hermione interrupted. Ron looked up. There it was, in the distance.

"Reckon we should follow it?" he asked.

"That's probably the best thing," she said.

They walked alongside the road for an hour or two, until they came close to a small town. They stopped, peering at it.

"Wizard or Muggle?" Ron asked.

"Muggle," Hermione answered. "I can see the streetlights. Come on." They jogged into town.

Ron tried to see everything at once; he was not often in Muggle towns. The stop lights, the neon signs, the little boxes on street corners that had to do with the "post office," the gas stations, one of which Hermione led him into. "Stop gaping, Ron," she hissed. "And let me do the talking."

She went up to the man at the counter, a friendly-looking man with a mustache, and put on a pleasantly puzzled expression. "I'm afraid we're a bit lost," she said apologetically. Hermione unfolded the map which she had taken out of her bag. "Could you point out just where we are, please?"

"Of course," said the man. He mused over the map for a moment, then pointed. "Here we are. Colfax."

"Thank you ever so much," Hermione said, flashing a winsome—and, Ron thought, completely out of character—smile at him. They left the station and Hermione pulled him around the corner. "Colfax," she muttered, taking out her wand. "Here _we_ are." She pointed with her wand, leaving a glowing blue dot on the paper. "Here's the castle." Another dot. She drew a line connecting them. "Not bad," she commented to herself. She seemed to have forgotten about Ron. "Sixty miles, about. We ought to have plenty of time. _Ades_!" she hissed, and a red marker appeared on the map, right over the blue dot, with "You are here" in tiny letters next to it. "And that," she said, still to herself, using her wand as a pointer, "makes Hogwarts right about he—" Her wand had jumped out of her hand. "Hmmm. That's the Unplottable Charm. Interesting…" Ron sighed impatiently. "Oh, sorry, Ron. We can go now." They hiked out of town and began the long walk to the remains of Damodred Castle.

§§§

A week later, they were very close—another day or so—and excitement was running high in both of them. They were practically skipping, despite the overcast sky, and Ron talked Hermione into "just one more mile" before they stopped for the night. They settled into routine—Ron cleared the site and Hermione set out the blankets, then cast the fire while Ron brought out the hot dogs. They toasted them over the flames and ate them hot, and Hermione reflected for at least the fifth time that week how nice it was, sitting there with your best friend around a warm fire roasting wieners. She could even shut out the part that said how much nicer it would be if Harry were there too. After dinner, they played Go Fish with Ron's deck of Self-Shuffling cards. And then it began to rain.

The hisses from the fire alerted Hermione just as she felt a raindrop plop onto her head. "Oh, no!" she cried, grabbing up the bedding and stuffing it into the bag while Ron stood up, looking panicked. The shower was quickly becoming a deluge, and Ron's hair quickly turned a dark copper color and lay flat and wet on his head. "Do something!" he said.

"What?" she asked. Her hair hung in dripping strands around her face.

Ron did not respond. They huddled close to the trees; _much good that does,_ she thought. Hermione had just become resigned to the idea of getting very wet when a man stepped into the clearing. He had a short white beard and a square face. He was also holding a large umbrella.

Hermione was alarmed. If he was a Muggle, and he saw their fire (and the color it was, it couldn't be missed), he would probably panic and they'd have the Ministry on them in no time. If he was a wizard, he would probably know that they were the runaways from Hogwarts and they'd have the Ministry on them in no time. A lose-lose situation, as she saw it. Her heart sank.

The man motioned them over. Ron went gratefully to the shelter of the umbrella, Hermione more slowly, picking up her bag as she went. "Who are you?" she asked.

"Later," he said. "We've got to get you out of this rain—unless you've got Pepperup Potion in that pack of yours." A wizard, then.

He led them through the forest into a large clearing. It contained a vegetable garden, a chicken coop, and a small cottage. The garden looked ready to be harvested, she noticed. Large tomatoes hung fat on their stems and leaves that might have been carrots spread over the soaking ground, as well as small chamomile flowers and mint. The man ushered them into the cottage and closed the door. The room was plain, but comfortable. Ron and Hermione took chairs at the table. "Tea?" the man asked.

"Yes, thank you," Hermione said. "But who are you?"

"My name is Bertram Bott," he said with a small bow.

"So you live here?" Ron asked.

"Yes. I'm a hermit." He seemed to take great delight in saying it, and smiled to himself. The kettle boiled—by itself, Hermione noticed—and he poured the hot tea into mugs. Hermione took a long sip. It warmed her up right away, and she thought she recognized chamomile; from the garden, she supposed.

"A hermit? Cool," said Ron.

"And what about you two?" Bertram asked.

"I'm Hermione, that's Ron," she indicated.

"We were out camping," Ron lied. "Didn't think to bring an umbrella." The old man seemed to accept this. Hermione was relieved. Apparently hermits did not keep up with the news.

"Good time of year for it," he replied. "School about to start, I expect?"

"Er, yes."

"Hogwarts?"

"Yeah," Hermione said. This train of conversation was making her very uncomfortable, and she wished the subject would change. Luckily Ron was thinking the same thing.

"So you're really a hermit." He sounded amazed. "How does that work? I mean, what do you _do_ all day? And what about stuff you need that you can't get yourself?" He looked ready to take notes.

"Well," said Bertram, "I lead a simple life; it's why I came out here. I work in the garden and feed the chickens and pretty much just _live_. And the rest of the time I spend in the library. I'm a bit of a collector of old books." He got up and opened the door; Hermione was too distracted to notice that it was the same one they had entered earlier. Inside was a room full of shelves, shelves full of books, old, thick, and calling to her. "Uh-oh," said Ron. "We'll never be able to drag her away now." The door closed, cutting off the view of treasure within. Ron elbowed Hermione out of her trance. "Isn't that the door we came through?" he asked. "Where does it lead?"

"It leads wherever I want it to lead," said Bertram, sitting back down.

"So, where do you get the things you need that you can't make yourself?" Ron asked, seeming eager to get on with their conversation.

"I go into town and buy it," he said, indicating a broomstick leaning against the wall and shrugging.

"But where do you get the money? I mean—ow!" he exclaimed, rubbing his shin where Hermione had kicked him.

"I'm sorry," she said to Bertram. "That was quite indiscreet of him."

"Not at all," he replied. He turned to Ron. "Stocks. My money is in stocks."

"Where did you get the stocks?" Ron asked. Hermione wondered if he really was considering becoming a hermit, with all these questions.

"Well, that's a long story, young man. I suppose it was our candy store. Been in the family for seven generations, just like the name. Recipes handed down too—top secret. Bertram Bott's put the town on the map." Something tugged at Hermione's mind there. "Then, about forty years ago, my father decided to take a gamble and try going national. I put up a lot of the money for it, I guess about half. Anyhow, it was a giant success after a few years; you may have heard of it—"

"_Bertie Bott's_!" Ron exclaimed. "That's you, isn't it? You guys make the best stuff! Every Flavor Beans and Fizzing Whizbees and…"

"Of course!" Hermione said. Then her eyes widened. "That trades for about a thousand galleons!"

Bertram Bott was wearing a small smile. "Yes. That's my story; what is yours? Hogwarts started term a month ago."

Ron and Hermione exchanged worried gazes. Hermione spoke up. "Will you promise not tell anyone?"

Bertram looked serious. "I cannot condone any action that would cause harm to someone."

"Quite the contrary," said Hermione, and launched into explanation. Bertram listened attentively and looked thoughtful when she was done. "That's quite a story. I believe you, and I will not stand in your way. In fact, I believe there's a book about the Damodreds in my library. You can look at it, if you like." He opened the door and she entered, feeling like Christmas had come early. The last thing she heard before the door closed was Ron, asking Bertram, "Want to play cards?"

§§§

Whew. Long one there. Apologies to Patricia C. Wrede, whose door I stole.

Author's Note: Hugs, kisses, and thank-you's to: Katy D *in spirit* and Angelface, Kelzery ("himself" in the sentence referred to Ron; I thought that might be confusing), Rebecca Starre (I'll only say that every scene had a purpose), Svolkame (oops…Maybe it's just into or out of, not within…or maybe the wards weren't working that day J), Mladybug3 (you'll find out *wink*), LiLi (yes, I am American), Adelina, Ronluver (go Ron), Yushia, California Love ("Hurry and post more"? That was so sweet of you!), Cateroo (Yeah, it took me a while to come up with the perfect divider, and the squiglies are it. A friend recommended me to you? You have no idea how happy that makes me!), Hermione (Dear, I'm not trying to be rude, but isn't it kind of a waste of the box if you don't review and only answer the question with an "I don't know"?), Jume (thanks for reviewing all the stories), A.J. Solo (Weasleys in general rule…), and Nickzchick and Daydreamer.

Brownie points: No one got it last time, so I'm posing it again: what book inspired me to name this story after a poison? Worth six thousand and two points.

Yet Another Author's Note: I could really use a beta-reader. Any volunteers?


	3. Mira

Hermione found it extremely hard to leave Bertram Bott's library once she had found the book she was looking for. Her eyes kept straying and catching on the titles of the old books, including the first edition of _Hogwarts: A History_—published just sixty years after its founding—and the diary of Wendelin the Weird. She finally sighed regretfully and went back to the kitchen.

Ron and Bertram were playing poker at the table. Ron's pile of sickles was noticeably larger; as the youngest brother in a family of boys that included Fred and George, he knew every trick in the book. He turned around as she entered and scooped up a stack of silver coins. "Here, Hermione, here's yours back." At her puzzled look, he said, blushing, "Well, I needed something to start with."

"You gambled with my money?" she said in disbelief.

"What?" he said, sounding injured. "I wasn't going to lose."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ron, we've got a big day ahead of us. We should get some sleep." She turned to Bertram. "Thank you for your hospitality. We'll just—"

"Oh, you needn't leave," he interrupted. "I have extra rooms."

"We've imposed enough," she said. "We can—"

"Nonsense," he interrupted again. "The ground will be soaking wet. I don't mind. It's been a long time since I've had guests." As he crossed the room to his magic door, Ron picked up his winnings. Hermione whispered, "You're not actually going to keep that, are you?"

"Sure," said Ron, giving her a strange look. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Ron, we're guests! We can't go stealing his money!"

"He lost it fair and square," Ron said stoutly. "Terrible poker player. Besides, he's a millionaire, he won't miss it."

__

I hate it when he makes sense, Hermione thought. "Goodnight, Ron." She walked into the bedroom on the other side of the magic door.

"'Night, Hermy."

§§§

The two shared a breakfast with Bertram, and then set off. The ground was spongy and the air carried the smell of recent rain, but fortunately the sun was shining brightly. Fortunate indeed, for Hermione was reading the book she had found last night as they hiked.

"How can you do that?" Ron asked, staring at her.

"Years of practice," she answered dryly. "Be sure to tell me if I'm about to run into a tree."

The castle was only about a mile away when Hermione said, "That's interesting."

"What?" Ron said wearily. _Not again_, he thought.

"There's a secret basement in the castle. A hiding place. None of the other books mention that."

Ron smiled sarcastically. "I'm sure that'll be really helpful when we're looking for the Sorcerer's Stone, _which is in the lake_!" Hermione glared at him.

They crested a hill a half-hour later, and below were the ruins of the Damodred castle. "Not very impressive, is it?" Ron said with a bit of a sneer.

"It _is_ six hundred years old. Look, there's the lake."

It was as Hermione had described it: perfectly circular, lined with white marble, and a very _long_ mile across. Ron moaned. "This'll take _forever_."

"Then I suppose we had better get started."

§§§

Two hours later, Ron and Hermione were very wet, very tired, and no closer to finding the Sorcerer's Stone. They discussed the problem over lunch.

"We've been over every inch of the lake," Ron complained, spearing two hot dogs with a stick and bringing them over the fire.

"Obviously we haven't, or we would have found it by now," Hermione snapped. "Maybe this wasn't the lake in your dream. Maybe the Stone is somewhere else."

"Oh, don't even say it," Ron moaned. He tilted his head in thought. "But I don't think so. This place looked familiar the first time I saw it. It's got to be here."

Hermione wrapped a hot dog in bread and took a bite. "Maybe we should look in the castle."

"Why? The Stone is in the lake."

"Maybe we'll find a clue there. Better than diving for the rest of the day."

"Okay," said Ron skeptically.

Wiping crumbs from their sodden clothing, Ron and Hermione trooped over to the castle, bringing Bertram's book with them. They looked all over, Hermione naming each room from the plans in her book, but they found nothing but dirt, stone, and the occasional wrapper. Other people had explored the castle, apparently. "What about the 'secret basement?' " Ron suggested.

"We've been everywhere else," Hermione said in agreement.

Following the map, Hermione led him to the study, where they cleared away dead leaves and a rotting carpet to reveal a large tile square with a heavy iron ring and a lock in the middle. They tried lifting it, but it didn't budge. "_Alohomora_!" Hermione whispered. The lock glowed red for a moment, but when they tried lifting it again, it held fast. "Great," said Hermione. "I guess we go back to the lake."

"No—hold on a minute—" Ron rooted around in the backpack, pulling things out, digging for something. _Why did I put it on the bottom?_ he cursed himself. Hermione was looking with a very disapproving gaze over the things he had brought out. "Dungbombs, Ron? Why did you bring dungbombs?"

"You never know," he said. "They might come in handy. Besides, dungbombs rule." Hermione sniffed. Ron finally closed his hand around what he had been looking for—Harry's pocketknife. He flipped it open and went to work picking the lock. Hermione watched curiously. "I didn't know you could pick locks."

"Ever since first year. With brothers like mine, you learn everything." There was an audible _pop!_ "That should do it," Ron said. He grasped the iron ring and pulled the tile up easily. Below were dark, dusty stairs covered with carpet that might have once been red. They stepped carefully down them, lighting their wands.

They were in a short corridor with several doors on both sides. Finding nothing of value in the first one, except for some empty wooden boxes, they tried the second door, which Ron had to unlock again. Inside was a very large room, the walls covered in tapestries that must have been beautiful once, and full of gilded furniture. A thick layer of dust covered everything, of course. "My gosh," said Hermione. "Their bomb shelter, and they still manage to spend a fortune on it."

Ron was just opening a bureau drawer when a voice said, "Lady Clarissa! Where have you been? What are you doing in those clothes?"

He whipped around, his heart beating like a rabbit's, to see Hermione staring at a large gilt mirror, which apparently was the speaker. They approached it, and the mirror said, "Who is this man? Lord Jeffrey won't like it if he catches you here with a kitchen boy again." _Kitchen boy_! Ron thought indignantly.

Hermione was frowning at the mirror as if she'd never seen anything quite like it. "Lady Clarissa?" she asked.

"Yes, of course you are. What is wrong, my Lady? Have you hit your head?"

"Yes." Hermione grabbed the answer like a life preserver. She rubbed her head and pretended to moan. "Yes, and I can't remember very much. Who are you?"

"Mira, my Lady," the mirror answered. Ron blinked. _Mira the mirror. Why not_. "You really should change, my Lady. If my Lord catches you in that scandalous outfit—" _Scandalous_? Ron thought. _It's just jeans and a T-shirt_ "—and with this kitchen boy, he'll have you punished, I know it."

"I don't think he'll find me, Mira," Hermione soothed. "Do you know where my necklace is?"

The mirror paused before answering. "I think so, my Lady. Let me show you." The image in the mirror suddenly changed; it now showed a young woman in a blue dress fixing her hair. The Sorcerer's Stone was on a chain around her neck. Ron took a step back; it was the image he had seen in his dreams. He now knew why the mirror had mistaken Hermione for Clarissa; the similarity was incredible.

A door banged open in the mirror, and a tall, handsome blond man walked into the picture. "Clarissa," he said in a hard voice, "you've got to go, while there's still time."

"I want to stay," she said in a sulky voice. It was extremely odd to hear that sound come from a person who looked like Hermione.

"Don't be foolish!" Lord Jeffrey said. "They'll kill you."

"Then I'll die with you!" she said grandly.

"This isn't a game, Clarissa!" He thumped his fist on the bureau Ron had been looking at. "I've been through the house. The bodies are piled up like kindling. The whole place is on fire. You _must_ go, _now_!"

The Lady Clarissa's expression changed. "Fine," she said defiantly. "But I expect you to join me soon."

"That may not be possible," he said grimly. Clarissa's sulky chin trembled. The hard-faced man continued. "Before you go, give me your necklace."

Her hand instantly clutched it. "Why?" she asked, sounding even more upset about losing her necklace than her husband.

"They want it," he said simply. "If I die, I'll at least die happy knowing that I kept from them what they wanted most." He removed it from his wife's neck. "I'll have one of the house-elves put it in the chamber at the bottom of the lake; no one will ever find it there. Now leave." Melodramatic tears dripping down her cheeks, Clarissa Apparated. Lord Jeffrey sighed and turned to leave, and the image in the mirror changed back to their reflections. _Wow_, thought Ron. _I wonder if_ our _mirror can do that_.

"Thank you, Mira," Hermione said absently. She turned to Ron. " 'Chamber at the bottom of the lake.' Did you see a chamber at the bottom of the lake?"

"I didn't get that far," he admitted.

"Let's go," she said. Waving to the mirror, she left the room and the basement, Ron tagging along behind her.

§§§

Ron and Hermione swam side by side, the Bubble-Head Charm around their heads. It was extremely boring, Ron thought, kicking and stroking in the endless white marble pool, always deeper to go. He watched the sun above dim. His arms pumped rhythmically and his thoughts wandered as they swam deeper and deeper…and then Hermione pointed. He could see a square of black upon the white marble. When they came to it, he saw that it was like a window, looking down on a room below. Hermione touched it, and her hand slipped right through. They pulled themselves in and found a small bare room—bare except for a table, upon which glittered—

"There it is," Hermione breathed. Ron carefully scooped up the Stone and looked at it wonderingly, breath caught in his throat. He had thought of this moment so many times, and now that it was here it felt slightly unreal. He grasped it tightly in his fist and climbed back through the window in the ceiling. Hermione followed, and they quickly rose back to the surface. Feelings of triumph rose in Ron. Finally! Finally, after a week, all they had to do was get back to Harry. They had done it. His bubble burst before he reached the surface, soaking his head, but he didn't care. He popped above the water, grinning and flinging his arm up in joy. The Sorcerer's Stone bounce on its gold chain. Hermione was at the surface now, and as her perfectly cast Bubble-Head Charm had not burst, no water disguised the tears of happiness on her face.

§§§

Note to my more clueless readers: When Hermione said "bomb shelter" she was speaking metaphorically, so don't yell at me.

Note: Thanks to all of my reviewers, whom I love and cherish: Guy Fawkes, ronluver (What?), me (It would have been interesting, but the story's about Ron and Hermione. We'll find out a little of what happened at Hogwarts in the next chapter), Sinead Potter (your wish is granted), California Love, Jackie (I'm sorry, okay? Geez, make one little mistake…J ), and Sheli. Remember, reviews make my day!


	4. Never Tickle a Sleeping Draco

Ron and Hermione didn't wait for their clothes to dry before beginning the long walk back to Hogwarts. Ron was bursting with joy. He could barely believe that they had found this lost treasure; who were they, after all? He wouldn't have been so surprised about it if Harry had been with them; things had a way of turning out right when Harry was around. That things had turned out so well for just Ron and Hermione was still a source of shock for him.

They were back at Bertram's house when the sun set. Hermione returned the book, and showed him the Stone, which was around her neck. He was as shocked and proud as Ron could have hoped. They stayed the night again, and set out for Hogwarts the next morning, Hermione practically falling over herself to thank him for his help.

They hiked through the woods, setting a faster pace than they had during their walk to the castle. Ron was imagining their happy reception at Hogwarts when Hermione interrupted. "I suppose that takes care of your dreams? The one with me was Lady Clarissa in the mirror, and the one with you was when we came out of the lake."

"I suppose it does," he said. He hadn't thought much about his dreams in the last week. He frowned. "The first one still doesn't make much sense, though. A silver dragon breathing red fire at Harry."

Hermione puzzled over that for a few moments, and then said, eyes wide, "Ron—scarletfire."

He nodded. "But if the fire is poison, then what's the dragon?"

"Maybe—maybe whoever poisoned him!"

They trudged along, deep in thought. _A silver dragon. What's a silver dragon?_ After a time, Ron gave up. A silver dragon, that wasn't much of a clue. They would probably never know who had tried to kill Harry. _A silver dragon_. Dragons always made him think of the Hogwarts motto. He smiled. _Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus_. Never tickle a sleeping dragon. _Good advice, that…wait a moment_…

Ron stopped. Several bits of information came together and crashed upon him in a wave of certainty. His lip curled. "Malfoy," he hissed.

Hermione stopped. "What?" She shook her head. "I know he doesn't like Harry, Ron, but I don't think he'd actually—"

"Oh, it's him alright," Ron said in a grim voice. "Think about it. Draco: Dragon. He's got a father who's a Death Eater and seems more than happy to follow in his footsteps. And what Dobby was trying to tell me…I bet he sneaked down to the kitchens and put the poison where Harry would eat it—and I bet Dobby saw him. He even looks silver, with his hair and his eyes…I'm going to kill him," he added in a deadly whisper.

"Ron," Hermione said, jogging alongside him as he strided implacably in the direction of Hogwarts, "don't get carried away. If it _was_ him, then they'll have him put away. He'll get what he deserves. Don't send yourself to Azkaban, Ron, I couldn't stand it." She seemed genuinely worried that he would carry out his threat. Ron didn't know if he would or not.

§§§

A few days cooled Ron's hatred to a smolder. They were very close to Hogwarts now, for Ron's wand was picking up the Location Spell he had put on the tree. "Now let's hope that Hogwarts doesn't move around," Hermione said.

"What?!" Ron said wildly.

"To make it harder to find," she clarified. "I don't think it does, though. I've never read it anywhere." _I hope not_, Ron thought fervently.

Fortunately, when they came to the tree, they could see Hogwarts in the distance. "Race you!" Ron yelled to Hermione, and took off, she at his heels.

They raced past the hencoop, past the greenhouse, past the cabbage patches, everything that they had sneaked by under the Invisibility Cloak almost two weeks ago. They crashed through the front door and, as they had planned, made straight for Professor McGonagall's classroom. She was the most likely to believe them.

They opened the door and stood puffing in the room, not hearing the hissing whispers of third years saying, "It's them." "Professor—" Ron started—and then stopped at the look in her eyes. They were full of cold fury. "_You two_!" Before Ron or Hermione could say another word, she walked over, took a firm hold of each of their ears, and marched them straight down the hall towards the headmaster's office. All the while she was going on furiously. "I don't know where you two have been, but I don't suppose you gave _one single thought_ to the grief you've put everyone through. Your parents have almost worried themselves to death—" Ron looked down guiltily "—everyone has. Harry poisoned, and you two disappearing—it's terrified the whole school. Your classmates have been crying their eyes out, and whole _departments_ of the Ministry of Magic have been looking for you. And then you two come _waltzing_ in, casual as you please; well, I won't have it! You're going straight to Dumbledore and I'll be quite shocked if you aren't expelled; yes, Miss Granger, even you!"

Ron suspected it would have gone on longer if they hadn't reached the Headmaster's office. She gave the password to the gargoyle and, fingers still clamped on their ears, dragged them up the staircase. She pushed them through the door and entered herself, arms crossed and still looking mad enough to spit nails.

Professor Dumbledore looked up, and regarded them with surprise in red-rimmed blue eyes. He had been working at a table covered with simmering potions and pages of old notes. He did not look angry, but very, very serious. "Where have you been?" he asked quietly.

Hermione didn't answer in words. Instead, she reached down her shirt, pulled the Sorcerer's Stone over her head, and dangled it by its gold chain in front of the Professor. She smiled like a satisfied cat.

Ron wished that Colin Creevy had been there to capture with his camera the completely stunned looks on Dumbledore's and McGonagall's faces. As he wasn't, Ron tried to burn the images into his brain, next to "Draco Malfoy, the Amazing Bouncing Ferret."

"I assume," said Dumbledore in a choked voice, "that that is the lost Sorcerer's Stone of the Damodreds?" Hermione nodded. Dumbledore blinked and snagged it from her hand. "I'll have Harry's antidote made in a few minutes. Why don't you go down and see him now?" So, leaving their shocked teachers, Ron and Hermione hurried down the stairs and over to the hospital wing, to see the friend whose malady caused them to undertake their journey.

§§§

Harry was definitely looking worse than the last time Ron had seen him. Clad only in boxer shorts (causing Hermione's cheeks to color), he was slick with sweat and his face was an unhealthy purple. Flowers and candy surrounded him, and his parents' photo album was propped up on the table, Harry's parents continually smiling and blowing kisses at him. "Harry?" Hermione said hesitantly. She didn't kiss him, for which Ron was exceedingly grateful.

Harry's head rolled toward them and looked at them with dull eyes. Hermione knelt down by the bed. "We've found a Sorcerer's Stone, Harry, and we've given it to Dumbledore and he's going to be here any minute to give you the antidote! You're going to be all right!" Harry hardly looked as if he cared. Tears welled up in Hermione's eyes.

"Did I hear that right?" a new voice came from the doorway.

"Sirius!" Ron exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"Isn't that obvious? My godson was dying." He looked at Harry sadly. "I ask again: did you just say that you've found a Sorcerer's Stone?"

"Yes, yes, we did."

"How?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged a long glance. "That's a long story," Ron said finally. Just then, Dumbledore walked in, carrying a flask with a clear liquid inside. He knelt down on the other side of Harry's bed and carefully tipped it into his mouth. Harry swallowed convulsively, and a slow shiver spread through his body. The flask was drained, and Harry sat up, touching his face. Then he saw Hermione and quickly threw a blanket over his middle. "Hermione!" he gasped. "Go away!"

Hermione looked taken aback. "Well, you're welcome, Harry!" she said, surprised and a little hurt. "Next time I'll just let you die!" She grinned at the confused look on his face. Ron grinned too. It was just like old times.

Dumbledore interrupted. "I suppose that you both want to get cleaned up first—" Ron winced "—and then come back here, for I'm sure that you have an interesting story to tell."

§§§

Ron and Hermione walked down a corridor together. It was strange to be back at Hogwarts, Ron thought. All of the straight lines and order that they had done without for the past two weeks. Ron was grinning at the familiar sight of Sir Cadogan and his horse when another familiar, less welcome sight came into his view. Ron's expression instantly changed to one of hate.

Draco Malfoy was standing in the middle of the corridor, radiating arrogance from his silver-haired head to his black leather boots. "Ah," he said, "the Mudblood and the Weasel are back. Where were you? Begging for knuts in Hogsmeade? Making out in the Forbidden Forest?"

"You did it," Ron said quietly, dangerously. "You poisoned Harry."

For just a short second, Draco's composure was broken. Then he relaxed and crossed his arms. "So what if I did," he drawled lazily. "You can't prove anything."

Ron saw red. He fumbled for his wand, but before he could curse Draco to kingdom come, Hermione grabbed it out of his hand. "_Stupefy_!" she yelled. Draco slumped to the floor, and Hermione hesitated for a moment before dashing over to him and giving him a good solid kick. Ron's jaw dropped. Hermione continued to kick madly, hitting his knees, his chest, his face. Then she took a fistful of his long hair and slammed his head down of the stone floor. Ron stared. "_Hermione! No!_" He gripped her upper arm and pulled her away—and she collapsed against his chest, shaking with sobs. Ron held her tightly, tight with the anger he still felt towards Malfoy. Hermione cried for a while, and he tried to comfort her. "It's all right, Hermione, nothing he didn't deserve…" although privately he was still shocked by her actions. She pulled away with a terrible expression on her face. "Ron," she said, still occasionally choking on sobs, "Ron, how could anyone be so cruel?"

Ron tried to look sympathetic, and Hermione gave a half smile. "I just had to get that smug look off his face," she said fiercely, "and then…then he was down on the ground, and he couldn't stop me if I wanted to do anything." She turned around and observed her handiwork. Draco's bruises were beginning to show, and his nose was quite probably broken. "I was so angry…what am I going to do when they find him?"

"I'll take care of him," Ron said. "You go back to the dorm. I'll be there in a bit." He picked up his wand and whispered, "_Cheerio_." Hermione suddenly brightened. She walked down the hall with a bounce in her step.

Ron watched her until she turned a corner. Then he turned and regarded the limp body of the boy who had nearly succeeded in killing Harry. Ron's lip curled in a snarl, and he pulled his foot back and delivered a mighty, well-aimed kick to the groin before following Hermione down the corridor.

§§§

After a shower and a change of clothes, Hermione and Ron had gone back to Harry, Dumbledore, and Sirius in the infirmary, and the whole story had come out. Ron's dreams. Their preparation and journey. The help of Bertram and Mira. Ron added his own suspicions about Draco (who was fortunately not conscious yet), and Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore, and Sirius had gone down to the kitchens to have a talk with Dobby. With much coaxing, they gathered that Draco's "See No Evil, Hear No Evil" charm had missed Dobby, and that he had seen the boy empty a vial into Harry's glass. At that point, Hermione thought it was a good time to mention the mauling she had given Draco. Dumbledore had been remarkably understanding, and only given her a week's worth of detentions. Sirius had winked slyly at her behind his back. 

Dumbledore wasn't quite sure what to do with the Damodreds' Sorcerer's Stone. Hermione had given Ron a good telling off for asking him for it, although she couldn't think of anyone who deserved it more. The Headmaster now wore it around his neck; as Harry often said, the safest place for anything was wherever Dumbledore happened to be.

Dobby's reluctant testimony was the at center of a long trial which ended with Lucius Malfoy put in Azkaban and Draco sent to St. Mungo's Juvenile Rehabilitation Wing. Hermione doubted it would help. The boy was made of ice, and she didn't think there was anything warmer underneath.

Ron and Hermione sat with Harry between them on a rock over the lake on the grounds. Harry's strength had come back slowly, and today was the first day he'd been allowed outside. Their feet were bare and Ron's toes were dragging through the water. Harry cleared his throat

"I don't think I've thanked you properly for saving my life," he said awkwardly.

"Forget it, Harry, you'd have done the same for us," Ron said.

"I hope so," Harry replied. They watched the lake for a moment, and then Harry hesitantly put an arm around each of his friends. They each put an arm around him, Ron briefly gripping Hermione's elbow. They exchanged a smile over Harry's head. The three friends watched the sunset and reveled in the quiet pleasure of being alive, together.

§§§

The End. And now let's have a big hand for Ron and Hermione, who saved Harry's life and ruthlessly creamed Draco!

Note: Thanks to my reviewers, the coolest people in the world: HGW, 1960 DeSoto, Sara, LiLi, ronluver (Never mind), Mladybug3 (I would love a mirror like that, and a door. I laughed so hard at your kissing comment! Sorry about no kissing in this story…hmm, maybe if I did a sequel…J ), Fantasy Girl, Princess Lily (no, I didn't…really? Well, it makes sense, we've had H/Hr/R, H/R, H/Hr, and just Harry, so that's pretty much all that's left), Ally (no, this is the end J), unicorn, Emily, Fiona McLain (although I'm not sure about you; you didn't say anything. However, it's the thought that counts), and stardust (All hail Ron).

Note: Are my bonus questions just too hard? The book that inspired me to name my story after a poison was _Silverthorn_ by Raymond Feist. Awesome book, by the way; best of the series, I think.


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